


Unexpectedly Lovely

by wordslinger



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: An eventual exercize in smut, Havocai, consent is SO important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinger/pseuds/wordslinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a love story between two people. Not everything has to be complicated and messy. Riza appreciates simplicity when it presents itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            Riza exhaled heavily, and shuffled through the papers on her desk. When she took the position under Colonel Mustang she’d expected more organization from him. In retrospect, she should’ve known better. Even as a boy he’d been hopelessly indolent and scatter-brained, despite the alchemic brilliance that captured her father’s attention.

            She jumped when a hand came down suddenly on her stack of seemingly never-ending work. Riza quirked an eyebrow and glanced up at a grinning Jean Havoc. “Can I help you with something, Lieutenant?”

            “Yeah, you can ditch the mess, and come have a drink with me.” He leaned his hip against the edge of her desk. “You look like you need one.”

            “If I don’t finish this, no one else will.”

            “Is it a life or death matter?” He lifted the corners of a few sheaves of paper, pretending to glance them over.

            “No, but-“

            “Then it’ll keep until tomorrow. Come on. I’m buying.”

            Riza glared up at him briefly before slumping in her chair. “Fine. I think I _do_ need a drink after today.”

            “That’s my girl. I know a great bar on over on State Street, not too wild or anything. I hope it’ll suit a partier like you.” Jean winked at her as she shrugged on her coat.

            “Yeah, I’m a real animal. Think you can keep up?” Riza deadpanned. Jean threw his head back and laughed loudly.

            “Don’t go too rough on me, Hawkeye, I’m not as young as I used to be.” He held the door open for her, and she didn’t protest as his hand strayed to the small of her back.

            The Blue House was nestled between a clock shop, and dressmaker. Riza would never have noticed it unless pointed out. Inside, the bar was dark and the mixture of voices and music were at a tolerable volume. Not at all like the establishments frequented by the Colonel. She was grateful.

            Jean brought her a vodka cranberry, and they sat in companionable silence at a table near a quiet corner.

            “Thank you,” Riza smiled at him.

            “You’re welcome, Riza, you’ve been pretty harried this week.”

            “Yeah, well, to be honest I didn’t anticipate the position of adjutant to be so… _taxing_.”

            “The chief is lucky to have you. I doubt he’d function at such a high level alone.” Jean smirked over the rim of his glass.

            “He definitely requires some guidance. He always has.” A small smile crept across her lips.

            “I get the impression you two have something. Am I wrong?”

            “That depends on your definition of _something_. We grew up together, in a way.”

            “So it’s not… you know…”

            Riza laughed. “No. No we aren’t involved romantically.”

            “Because of the regulations?”

            “You don’t waste any time do you, Jean?” Riza took a long sip of her cocktail. “No, not because of the regulations. The Colonel and I are very close, don’t get me wrong. I love him, trust him with my life, and would take a bullet for him, but we aren’t compatible _that_ way.”

            “You mean, he isn’t into women or what?”

            The vodka was taking a hold, and she outright giggled. “No, he likes his women. Maybe a little too much.” Riza gently stirred the ice in her glass, and smiled at Jean. “Let’s just say Roy wants a buffet, and I’m more of a one-course kind of woman. Besides, the one time we tried each other out, the whole thing felt… _incestuous_. We agreed never to speak of it again.”

            “I see. Well that’s too bad. For him, I mean.”

            Riza rested her chin on the heel of her palm. “Is it now?”

            Havoc only smiled and asked if she’d like another drink. Wordlessly, she pushed her empty glass in his direction. Riza watched him as he approached the bar. She’d always found the man ridiculously attractive, and even without the aid of vodka Riza knew flirting with him would come easy. Jean wasn’t technically her subordinate, and there would be no need for sneaking around. She hoped the Colonel wouldn’t pitch a fit if the two of them became involved. He wouldn’t tolerate awkward discord on his team, and he’d dismiss Havoc in a heartbeat if things went south.

            Fresh drinks in hand, Jean returned. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

            “We aren’t in the office, and you don’t need my permission to be yourself.” Riza smiled lazily.

            He shrugged, and fished his pack of cigarettes from a pocket. “Some people don’t like it.”

            “It doesn’t bother me.”

            “Good.”

            Riza sipped her drink, enjoying the buzz. Her eyes focused on the way Havoc’s lips held the cigarette steady as he lit it.

            “So why don’t you date?”

            “Who says I don’t?” She couldn’t manage an offended tone. Her entire body felt pink with alcohol.

            “We’ve been working together for over a year, Riza. I’m not as creepily observant as Falman, but I see you.”

            She sighed. “It’s hard to find peers, to be honest. I hate lying, and most men ask too many of the wrong questions.”

            “You don’t seem to be put off by any of mine.”

            “The night is still young, Havoc.” She smirked, and elbowed him lightly. “When the time comes, I think you’ll know which questions are the wrong ones.”

            “That’s awfully cryptic, but I do like your use of _when_ and not _if_.” He inched closer to her. Close enough for their shoulders to brush.

            Riza angled her body towards him, and ran her fingers along the chest flap of his uniform. She looked up at him, and found his eyes already on her. “I have confidence in your future, but right _now?”_ She pressed herself against him as close as she dared in a public setting.“Right now, I’m going to need you to kiss me o-“

            Jean’s lips were soft, and he tasted of smoke, and whiskey. Riza found the combination oddly pleasant and arousing, though, she doubted it would be so on anyone else. It wasn’t the flavor, it was _him_.

            His fingers traced her jaw, and when he pulled back he smiled down at her. “How was that?”

            Her cheeks were flushed pink, her lips curled up into a grin. “I think it’s gotten really hot in here.” Riza took his hand, and twined her fingers with his. “Let’s go.”

            The air outside was crisp. Not quite cold enough to warrant the close way Riza clung to Jean’s side, but he didn’t seem to mind. He only wrapped his arm around her shoulders tighter.

            Riza’s apartment was only four blocks south of State Street, and she was sorry to see their walk together end. Jean kissed her again with her back pressed against the front door. His hands clutched her waist beneath the blue military uniform top, and her fingers threaded through his hair. She’d never had to stand on her toes to reach a man’s mouth before, and she found the extra effort to be something she enjoyed.

            “Do you want to come in?” Riza whispered breathlessly between a series of softer, but no less searing, kisses.

            “Of course I want to come in, but-“ Jean pulled back and caught her eyes with his. “I won’t.”

            Riza frowned. “But-“

            “Listen, Riza, I like you. So much that it’s painful for me to pull away from you right now, but you’re drunk.”

            “I’m not th-“

            Jean chuckled, and brushed his lips against the pink apple of her cheek. “Yeah, you are.” All the humor in his eyes disappeared when he pinned her down with a heated stare. “When you pull me into your bed, I want it to be because you’re sober, and still want me.”

            He kissed her once more, and smiled against her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

            “...and your session with the photographer is at one this afternoon, so I’ll need these-“ Riza followed him into the office and, placed a stack of manila file folders on Roy’s desk. “-signed and sealed by ten.”

            “If my session isn’t until one, why do I have to have these done so early, and what do you mean photographer?” The Colonel didn’t even thumb through the files before turning his chair towards the open window.

            “Your official photos, sir. They’re being taken today, I told you about this a month ago.”

            “You did not, I would have remembered something like that.”

            “You have a haircut scheduled at ten-thirty, and your Class A uniform will be ready by eleven-fifteen.”

            “Haircut? Lieutenant, I think that’s a little mu-“

            Riza went on without missing a beat. “You’ll have to pick up the uniform yourself because I’ll be in a mediation until noon. And you _absolutely_ need a haircut. I’ve already made the appointment, and you _will_ be present.” She stepped around his chair and fixed him with a glare.

            “This is a ridiculous waste of my time,” he grumbled.

            “Yes, I’m sure having a nap at your desk while I’m out of the office takes a much higher priority.”

            “Where do I pick up my uniform? And why do _I_ ha-“

            “The tailor is on the ground floor, sir. It’s easy to find.”

            “But you’re my _aide_ … can’t you _aid_ me in this… thing?”

            Riza sighed and left him to his pout. “I have a mediation, I told you. A female officer must be present. You can’t possibly get lost in headquarters. Take Fuery if you need a babysitter.”

            “But-“ Roy swiveled his chair, and found himself the subject of a terrifying stare. He cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose that’s all fine, Lieutenant. Thank you.”

            Riza nodded, and took a seat at her own desk. She had exactly two minutes of silence before he interrupted her thoughts.

            “Wait a minute, if my photos are at one, when am I supposed to take lunch?”

            “After.”

            “Good grief, that’s extreme.”

            “You won’t starve, and there’s granola bars in your desk. Also a toothbrush. Use it if you decide to snack.”

            As the Colonel mumbled under his breath about the unfairness of his workload, Riza glanced up and caught the eye of a grinning Havoc. He was barely holding back a chuckle, and without her permission, her own lips twitched into a miniscule smile. She hadn’t been anywhere _near_ intoxicated enough the night before to have forgotten his kisses.

            They had, in fact, played a prominent role in some _very_ explicit dreams. She’d woken up sweaty, and decidedly frustrated.

            _Tap-tap-tap_

_Tap-tap_

Riza ground her teeth, and shifted her gaze back to the Colonel, who was petulantly assaulting the desktop with a pen.

            “You have fifty minutes before I need those files, sir. They’re important, and I’ll be taking them with me when I leave.”

            “I’m distracted.”

            She glanced back at Havoc, who was still grinning at her. Fighting back a blush, Riza whispered, “We all are.”

            Mediations were the absolute _worst_ part of her job, though, technically not a requirement of her position under Mustang, but as a female officer. Her presence supposedly assured equality amongst the sexes, and prevented female plaintiffs from feeling intimidated or cowed by male officers. Riza didn’t mind attendance when the case was an issue such as sexual harassment or discrimination, but this particular day the argument was over a parking space.

            Shifting in her chair, and stifling a yawn, she glanced surreptitiously at the clock. Twenty minutes, and she would be free of this drudgery.

            Free to return to the brain-melting task of holding the Colonel’s hand through his photo session. She wasn’t actually sure which was worse: a Major and a Lieutenant Colonel bickering over a parking space or dealing with Mustang on a day when he seemed determined to go against her carefully choreographed grain. Dimly she recognized the _real_ source of her agitated state was neither the Colonel nor the officers currently seated at opposite ends of the table. It was Jean Havoc. _He_ was her problem.

            She hadn’t gone out with the intention of pursuing him sexually or even _romantically_ , for that matter. Her attraction to him had been safely kept locked away in one of her expertly compartmentalized boxes. Acceptance of his offer for drinks had been a moment of… _what?_ Insanity? Weakness? Riza wasn’t sure, but even in a haze of rampant sexual frustration, she knew she didn’t regret it. His careful questions and the eventual reciprocation had lit a match under her, and she wanted to burn.

            Seconds after the mediation came to its conclusion, Riza vacated her seat. She was first out the door, and halfway to the elevators when she felt a hand on her elbow.

            “I’m glad to see you made it out of bureaucratic purgatory, I was worried.” Havoc’s voice made the tiny hairs on her arms bristle with arousal.

            “Just another day at the office, Lieutenant. The government machine must churn on, despite parking lot assignment tragedies.”

            They stepped into the elevator together, and Jean pressed the third floor button as the doors slid shut. Riza had _never_ been more physically aware that she was _alone_ with anyone before in her life.

            She turned to him, and smiled as she leaned against the wall of the lift. “I had a good time last night, thank you for asking me. Maybe-“

            “Maybe we could do it again sometime?” His mouth curled into a genuine smile at the way their words fumbled into one another. Jean leaned in to brush his lips against her neck. “I think pink is my favorite color on you,” he whispered. Riza’s breath quickened as she turned her head slightly to catch him in a kiss just as the elevator doors slid open.

            “Ah! Lieutenant Hawkeye, I’ve been looking for you.” Colonel Mustang’s voice sent them leaping several feet apart, and Havoc coughed loudly as he made a hasty exit from the elevator.

            _Traitor_ , Riza thought as she watched him go, with not a little twinge of sadness.

            Roy stepped into the elevator with her, and pressed the button for the ground floor. “I was on my way to pick up my uniform, and here you are. Now I can’t possibly get lost.”

            “Sir, you were supposed to have done that forty-five minutes ago.”

            He waved her complaint away, and leaned against the opposite wall. Riza did not like the way his face twisted into a sly grin.

            “So. You and Havoc, huh?”

            “That’s none of your business.”

            “Isn’t it? You’re both on my team; I’d say it’s absolutely my business. How long has this been going on?” He eyed her intently. Riza knew there would be no concealing the redness of her face. This was _not_ how she’d planned the conversation would go. “I’d venture a guess that it must be new. You’re embarrassed, but really, Hawkeye. An _elevator?_ ”

            “I-“ Riza took a moment to compose her thoughts. There was no point in lying or drawing anything out. “Yes, it’s new. I wasn’t going to bring it up at all until, you know, later.”

            “He’s a womanizer, Riza.”

            The use of her first name meant he was speaking to her as a friend, and not concerned superior officer. “I’m a big girl, Roy. I tie my own shoes and everything. Besides, you have zero room to make that argument.”

            “ _I’m_ not the one trying to date you! _Of course_ , you can see whomever you want! I’d never presume to tell you otherwise, I’m just concerned.”

            “It’s fine. And I’m well aware of Jean’s reputation, but I want to see how this goes. I _like_ him.” She picked a bit of lint from her sleeve. “Besides, he doesn’t seem put off by _my_ reputation.”

            “I wasn’t aware you had one.”

            She smirked dryly. “You know, the one where I’m an ice-cold bitch who eats suitors for breakfast.”

            Roy frowned and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “That’s just bullshit office talk by people who don’t actually know you.”

            Shrugging, she pushed herself off the wall. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care who he’s been with or how many notches are in his bed-post. If he turns out poorly, that’s my problem.” They exited the elevator, and Riza steered him towards the tailor. “I don’t want you interfering, Colonel.”

            “I promise I’ll stay out of your personal lives, but-“

            She rounded on him, and firmly placed a finger on the center of his chest. “No. No _buts_. I never, ever say a word about the way you cat around town, or the amount of calls I field deflecting these woman you can’t seem to fully disengage from.” Roy’s eyes widened. Riza lowered her voice. She never addressed him by his first name in a public, official setting. “ _I_ look out for _you_ now, remember?”

            He blew out a breath, and looked away for a long moment. “I’m sorry. You have my apologies.” He smiled crookedly, and leveled his gaze at her again. “Let’s get this photograph nonsense over with, I need a nap.”

            Once she had the Colonel successfully back in their office, and ushered into his private room to change, Riza sank into her desk chair. The day seemed to be growing longer instead of shorter, and it was still early afternoon.

            A paper cup of steaming coffee that, by all appearances, looked to have been prepared exactly as she preferred it was placed in front of her. Jean smiled sympathetically.

            “Thursdays are always shitty.”

            Riza sipped the coffee, and returned a grin. “Only Thursdays? I feel like _I_ need a nap.” Feeling bold, she glanced back up at him. “Want to come over tonight? I’d like some company, and there’s a new take-out restaurant next to my building.”

            “Absolutely. I’d love to. I’ll even pick up di-“

            “Lieutenant…” a muffled voice from Mustang’s private office called. _“Lieutenant!”_ Riza rolled her eyes heavenward, and gulped the remainder of her coffee. “Ouch! God- _fucking_ … _Lieutenant!_ ”

            She stood, and gave Havoc’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Duty calls.” He chuckled, and returned to his desk. Riza braced herself, and opened the private office door prepared for the worst. She wasn’t disappointed, but the urge to burst out laughing was difficult to tamp down. “Oh, Colonel. _Really?_ ”

            “I’m being assaulted by my uniform. Something is poking me, and I can’t get… this… Can you just help me _please?_ ”

            “That _something_ is a pin. Just take the blazer off, and remove them.” She refused to be drawn into his hurricane of frustration, and leaned against the doorframe.

            “Why in the _hell_ are there pins in my uniform?”

            “It’s standard dry-cleaning, and starching procedure, sir.”

            “Do they put pins in _yours?_ This is ridiculous!”

            Riza sighed, and picked at her fingernails. “Yes. Of course, they do. I just know enough to pull them out before attempting to put my uniform on.”

            “Why was I never informed of this procedure?”

            “Because I suppose I’ve always pulled them out for you. _You have my apologies_.” She smirked as he glared over his shoulder, and felt satisfied he was properly punished for trying to insert his opinion on the situation with Havoc. “Please try and hurry, sir. Your session is in five minutes. I’ll meet you at the end of the hall.”

            Roy finally won his battle with the blazer, and angrily stuffed the plastic wrapping left over from the tailor in the wastebasket. As he marched toward the main office doors he stopped in front of Lieutenant Havoc’s desk. Leaning down to meet eyes with the man, his mouth turned upward into a feral grin.

            “Hawkeye is my oldest, closest, and most trusted friend. If you hurt her, I will incinerate you without a second thought.” Colonel Mustang stood up straight, and adjusted his gold cufflinks. “Are we clear?”

            To his credit, Havoc didn’t flinch even a little. “Crystal.”


	3. Chapter 3

            Riza sighed and rolled over onto her stomach as she stretched her legs, and flexed her toes. A pair of lips brushed her naked shoulder in the pale moonlight of her bedroom. She smiled.

            “Dinner was nice.”

            Jean laughed, and fell backwards into a pillow next to her. “Only dinner?”

            “Well, the other stuff too,” Riza stated nonchalantly.

            “You’re a hard woman to please, Riza Hawkeye.”

            She laughed, and propped herself over his chest. “I’m joking. Everything was fantastic.” Her fingers traced an abstract shape over his skin. “And… thank you.”

            His palm settled over the middle of her back. “I figured out which questions were the wrong ones. I won’t ask,” he said looking her in the eye. Riza’s lips fell into a smaller, much sadder smile. “They aren’t only your secrets to tell, and it’s okay.”

            “It’s that obvious, huh?”

            He shrugged. “Everyone’s seen his gloves.”

            “You understand why it’s an issue then? I can’t-“

            “Hey,” Havoc’s hands cupped her cheeks. “I’m not going to be a dick about it. The _last_ thing I want to do is push you away. No one will hear about any of it from me.”

            Riza took his hand, and threaded their fingers together. “I’m happy,” she said as she rested her cheek on his chest.

            “About?”

            “Being here.” She watched the sheer curtains billowing in the chilled breeze from the open window. “With you. You can smoke if you want, I don’t mind.”

            “Inside?”

            “Yeah, it’s fine. I don’t want you to get up.”

            Jean laughed, and shifted her slightly to reach down to the rumpled pair of pants on the floor. Riza heard him flick his lighter to life, and felt the rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled, and exhaled.

            “So,” he hesitated, and she could hear his heartbeat speeding up. “Does this mean we’re dating? I mean, I don’t want to presume anything.”

            She lifted her head, and smiled. “I’d like that. You should know, though,” Riza sat up, and straddled his lap, “I don’t share well with others.” She plucked the cigarette from his lips and flicked it into the nearly empty water glass on the bedside table.

            “My reputation precedes me, huh?” Jean grabbed her hips, and slid her forward so she could feel his rekindled erection. “I don’t cheat, Riza.” He sat up, and with one hand in her hair, he pressed his lips to her neck. “I may have more flings than should be allowed, but I don’t cheat.”

            He sucked the skin of her neck into his mouth, and Riza moaned quietly. “You recover quickly.” She rocked her hips against him, and reached down to touch his hard cock. “That’s good. I was worried you’d roll over and pass out on me.”

            He laughed again. Riza loved his laugh. It was a loud, genuine sound that made her feel lighter under all the weight of her burdens and responsibilities.

            “If men are rolling over with you next to them, I’d say you’ve been with the wrong ones.”

            “You have no idea.” Riza turned her head and captured his mouth in a kiss as she slid down onto him. Jean groaned, and his fingers tightened on her hips.

            Unlike their first go-round, this was a slower process. Lazier, and spiked with something that hadn’t been there before. Earlier that evening Riza had battled her anxiety over how Havoc would react to her tattoo, and burn scars. She’d tried to warn him of the skeletons in her closet the previous evening, and to her delight, he’d read between the lines, connected his own dots, and didn’t press her for details she couldn’t provide.

            Riza realized she trusted him, and it turned her on like nothing else.

            Her hands roved over his muscled chest, and into his hair. She tangled her fingers in it as his mouth explored her breasts, and neck. The way his breath fanned over the skin he’d wet with his mouth was incredibly arousing, and she tightened around him.

            “Fuck, Riza, you’re… you’re so… I-“ She grinned and cut him off with a kiss. He tasted of smoke, and _her_. His tongue was skilled, and he hadn’t hesitated to prove it earlier that evening. She whimpered loudly when his hand reached between them, and found the very center of her arousal. The familiar trigger finger callous was unexpectedly useful. Her toes curled as he stroked her to a sweaty frenzy of sensation.

            The tension broke in a forceful surge that racked her entire body. She slumped against his chest and shoulder, and clutched at him as he flipped her onto her back to finish himself. Riza smiled and ran her fingers through his hair as he breathed heavily into her shoulder. Jean braced his body weight on his forearms, and kissed her soundly.

            “Are you going to kick me out tonight?”

            “Not a chance, but I think I’m going to need one of your cigarettes, though.” He laughed again, and Riza couldn’t help the brilliant smile that stretched across her face. “You can just leave early enough to change for work in the morning.”

            “Next time, I’ll bring a spare.” He grinned, and kissed her again lightly before reaching for the pack of cigarettes.

            Riza wasn’t quite ready to admit how much she liked the idea of having Havoc’s things in her apartment. Was it too soon? Were they moving too quickly? She was thoughtful as he lit the cigarette for her, and one for himself. He leaned back against her headboard, and brought her against his chest.

            “So, how much of this are we going to have to hide at work? Can I take you to lunch now?”

            She smiled around the cigarette. “I think lunch is fine, but we can’t be kissing in elevators.” He chuckled. “You’ll just have to keep your hands to yourself until we’re safely out of headquarters.”

            His response was to wrap his arm around her waist. She loved Jean’s arms. They were solid, and strong, and made her feel feminine. She was shocked that she liked it so much. “I suppose I can do that.”

            His cigarette fizzled out in the glass, and Riza tossed hers in the water, as well. She couldn’t help the yawn that crept up from her lungs. They lay quietly in her bed, wrapped around one another. The giddiness of the evening wasn’t enough to keep her awake for long. Havoc was out before she was, and as she watched him sleep she couldn’t help but feel ridiculously content.


	4. Chapter 4

            Havoc hadn’t expected Eastern Headquarters to look any different after only two months away, but the tone in Mustang’s suite of offices was definitely off. He was too fatigued to think on it, however, as he tossed his ruck sack onto one of the pair of couches, and fell into the cushions of the other. Six weeks of field training, and an entire day stuck in a shitty train compartment with two other, much younger, male soldiers meant all he wanted was a three day nap.

            Falman grimaced at him from his desk, Furey grinned widely- perhaps a little _too_ widely, and Breda simply said, “Thank fuck you’re back.”

            “Missed me, did ya?” All Havoc could manage was a lopsided grin.

            “Listen, man, we’ve been going through it for the last three weeks,” Breda said through a mouthful of sandwich.

            “Trouble on the home front?” Jean raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got news for ya, then, if you need a handsome bastard like me to solve it, you’re shit out of luck. I’m exhausted. Where’s the boss?”

            His three co-workers exchanged a series of glances. “He’ll be back in a few minutes, but Havoc, you should know th-“

            Breda was interrupted by the main office door swinging open, and slamming against the wall. Colonel Mustang entered the room with a glare, and when his eyes settled on Havoc, Jean could swear he looked relieved.

            “All of you, out. I need to debrief Lieutenant Havoc. Alone.” Mustang barked, and sent his staff all but running from the room. “Lieutenant. We need to talk about your field training.”

            “Sure, chief. I’ve got my packet in my ruck somewhere-“

            “That can wait,” Mustang interrupted. He leaned against his desk, and ran a hand through his hair. After a deep breath, he straightened. “Lieutenant Jean Havoc, you are now under orders to never leave your home post for longer than a period of two weeks. At no time while you are under my command are you to be away without my express permission. Any conflicting orders will be brought to my attention immediately. Understood?”

            “Yes, sir. That’s understood.” The Colonel nodded, and slouched into a chair. “Is there a problem, boss? I literally stepped off the train twenty minutes ago.”

            “Oh, there’s a huge problem. It’s Hawkeye.”

            Havoc sat up straighter. “Has something happened to her?”

            “Yes,” Mustang sighed. “She’s become intolerable. The work load she foists on us is inhumane, and her demeanor is downright snappish.”

            “Aw, she missed me.” Jean smiled crookedly.

            “Yes, you fool.” Mustang hissed, his glare wiped the grin from Havoc’s face. “And you will fix it. No one can work in this environment. I’ve had to send her to the range for the past four days to train cadets just to get her out of our hair. Which, of course, means nothing here gets done. Not properly anyway.” The Colonel leaned back in his chair.

            “How is any of this my fault? And what do you mean by _fix it?”_

“Apparently she’s grown accustomed to your relationship, and the perks therein.”

            Havoc shook his head in confusion.

            “Don’t play dumb, Lieutenant. She’s wound tight as a wire, and I can’t take it anymore. I’m pretty sure Furey is going to start submissively peeing on my floor if you don’t smooth her out.”

            “I doubt she’d appreciate you having this conversation with me.” Jean smirked, and patted his chest pocket for a cigarette.

            “I don’t give a shit. The first two weeks were fine, but things deteriorated after that. My entire staff is on edge.” Mustang pinned him with another glare. “Retrieve her from the range, and _fix it.”_

“You mean now?”

            “ _Yes!_ Right now, you idiot, before she kills someone and I get buried in paperwork explaining it away. When you report for duty in the morning, I expect things to run with normal efficiency.” Mustang waved him away, and Jean didn’t bother to conceal his rolling eyes.

            With a not so quiet grumble Havoc tossed his ruck sack down for the second time since stepping off the train, and checked the sign-in rosters at the firing range. Riza had checked in five cadets earlier that day. The frantic pounding of boots, and hushed voices behind him caught his attention, and he swiveled around. The group of young soldiers spotted his rank a second too late, and their unified salute was pathetic.

            Jean lazily leaned against the front desk. “Where are you cadets off to in such a hurry?”

            They fumbled around like marbles in a tin. “Well, sir, we were dismissed, and we-“

            _“What are you all still doing in my space?”_ A harsh female voice called from the hallway behind the cadets.

            Jean peeked past them, and grinned. “Well, hey there, beautiful. Are these stray pups yours?”

            The cadets’ eyes widened, their faces flushed with horror at his bold, and possibly last, words.

            “Not anymore,” Lieutenant Hawkeye said dryly. “Did I not dismiss you properly before? _Go!_ ” Havoc had never seen a group of cadets move faster. They cleared out of the small office building leaving him alone with Riza.

            “You look just as gorgeous as I remember.” He drawled, bravely.

            “You’re in an awfully good mood.” She didn’t look at him as she signed herself and the terrified cadets out.

            “Well, I am now. I’ve been stuck in a dust bowl for two months, and you’re the best thing I’ve seen all day.”

            She finally met his smiling gaze. “Six weeks, Jean.”

            “Aw, come on now Riza, you know I didn’t have any control over that.” He stepped closer, and slid his arm around her waist. She didn’t resist, but she wasn’t exactly receptive. Jean pressed his lips to her neck, and inhaled. “Mm, gunpowder, and lilacs. My favorite. Come home with me.”

            She started to squirm, and push away. “I’ve got work back at the office.”

            “Nope. You don’t. I am authorized to take you by force if needs be.”

            Riza narrowed her eyes. “That sexist bastard.”

            Jean laughed. “Just come home with me, I’ve missed you.”

            She sighed dramatically, and he noticed the edges of her lips twitching. “I suppose my skewering of the Colonel for interfering in my personal life can wait until tomorrow.”

            The shower tiles were cool against her back, and Riza decided she liked Havoc’s shower much better than hers. It had a built-in shelf seat that she was particularly fond of. Her head lolled backwards against the wall, and she ran her fingers through his hair. The way his tongue traced a line from her shoulder to her jaw was distracting, but his fingers between her legs took up the majority of her brain space.

            Riza gasped, and her thighs trembled as she lost control of her senses. The strong arms she loved so much kept her from crumpling to the shower floor.

            “Did you miss me?” She could hear the grin in his voice.

            “Should I have?”

            “You wound me, Riza. I missed _you._ ”

            She leaned up, and kissed his protruding bottom lip. “You’re an insufferably needy man.”

            He laughed, and Riza’s chest felt warm. She loved his laugh, and _had_ missed it. “I’m insufferable now?”

            “Shut up, and take me to bed. Show me how much you missed me,” She tried to keep her smile small. “Please?”

            “Is that a beg?” Riza snorted derisively, and attempted to push past him and out of the shower. Jean pinned her against the tiles. His eyes were a dark blue as he stared her down. “I missed you so fucking much, Riza.” Then his lips were on hers, and the world around her flicked off.

            His hand hefted her knee to his waist, and she held tight to his shoulders as she wrapped her other leg around him. Without dropping her, he twisted the shower knob off, and carried her to his bed with no care for the excess water dripping from their bodies. Jean deposited Riza on the sheets, and crawled over her.

            “I think I missed kissing you the most,” he whispered, and brushed feather-light kisses over her face, and neck before finally her mouth. “I also missed the way your skin feels against mine.” Jean’s hand gently squeezed her right breast. “So soft.”

            Riza’s breath came in quick pants. “Jean,”

            “No talking. You don’t outrank me in my bedroom.” He slid down her body, and glanced up at her as his mouth closed around her nipple briefly before kissing the underside of her breasts.

            He ran his nose along the plane of her stomach, and smiled at the way her muscles fluttered under his touch. “The way you breathe when I touch you is beautiful.” Jean slipped his hands under her back, and pressed his cheek to her stomach. “I don’t ever get tired of listening to you breathe.”

            Jean returned to his slow trek down her body, and stopped at her hips. He grinned wickedly up at her as he inched toward the throbbing place between her thighs. “I’ve also missed the way you taste, Riza.”

            Her eyes flew shut at the first brush of his tongue against her swollen skin, and her back arched off the bed. His fingers dug into her ass cheeks, and she clutched mercilessly at his damp hair as his mouth drove her towards a long overdue ecstasy.

            “Look at me, Riza,” He murmured against her. “I want to see you when you come.”

            Riza propped herself up on her elbows, and met his eyes. The intensity with which he gazed at her from between her thighs sent her right over the edge. For the second time that afternoon, Riza gasped for breath and swore the saw the light of heaven. She felt Jean’s body settle over hers, and hitched her legs around him. He kissed her deeply, and pushed inside her with a force that made her dig her fingernails into his shoulders.

            Jean moved hard, and fast within her, and despite having come twice already she found herself on the brink of a third orgasm. He angled his hips slightly so that with every thrust he managed to hit exactly the right spot. Riza leaned up, and fastened her mouth to his neck when she felt the tremors begin. He shuddered, and came soon after.

            She held him close as he regained control of his breathing, running her fingernails across his scalp. He pushed off her, and smiled lazily. “You can talk now.”

            Riza smiled, and kissed him softly. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to say so, but I _did_ miss you.”

            “You’re not a talker, Riza. It’s okay. I knew,” He whispered, and brushed a strand of hair from her face, as she molded herself to his side.

            “You’re amazing. I don’t deserve you.”

            Jean chuckled. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing that _I_ deserve _you_.”

            A noise that was trying very hard to be annoyed escaped her throat. _“Insufferable.”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm at the point where it's painfully clear I have no exit strategy for this story. I just kind of marched in, and got lost. Chalk it up to me being American. It's the way of my people, I suppose. I've got an ending in mind, but I'm still grasping at the B, and the C of it. I'm thinking one more chapter, but who knows? Sorry?

            Jean was the type of boyfriend who never forgot a birthday or anniversary, he always seemed to be in sync with her moods, and her desk never lacked for colorful daisies in the days after she’d had a particularly difficult bout of nightmares. The flowers didn’t keep the terrors away, but they did make her smile. His understanding, and efforts were what counted.

            He’d wanted to move in together when Mustang’s team transferred to Central City, but Riza insisted on her personal space. She could tell it wounded him a little, but she wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. Despite the headiness of love, though, she didn’t dare call it that, she had a mission that predated Havoc. She never threw it in his face that he hadn’t served in Ishval, and couldn’t really understand, but the subtext was there.

            To his credit, Havoc gave her space, and never pushed the envelope. He told himself he was happy with whatever parts of Riza he could have. The parts of her that were off limits, however, were glaring. As the Homunculus threat burrowed deeper, and deeper her single-mindedness began to grate.

            In his darkest moments, Jean would say his spinal injury was a relief. On better days, he could admit he felt more useless than Mustang in a rainstorm. Initially they attempted to carry on. She visited him in the hospital as often as her schedule permitted, but the façade crumbled quickly.

            She couldn’t quite mask her hurt, and frustration when he insisted on returning to his family’s home. They both knew it was for the best, but Riza seemed to take his decision harder than even he had. He’d done his best to say goodbye, but her only response was a kiss on the forehead, and a squeeze of his hand. He hoped the realization of their end wouldn’t come to her at night. That’s when she needed companionship most.

            News from Central trickled in slowly after the Promised Day. He brushed most of it off as sensational misinformation, and resented the Amestrian public for their willingness to not question any of it. Even his parents seemed to accept the stories, and returned to business as usual after the dust settled. Mrs. Havoc made great attempts to mollify her son’s anxious return to the city when Mustang called for him. There was no shortage of women she paraded through the store. He felt like a pastured bull lured by pretty bovines.

            “There’s nothing wrong with your plumbing, Jean,” She’d fervently insisted. “I want more grandchildren. You’re being unfair.”

            “I’m a soldier, ma. It’s time for me to catch up to my unit.”

            “You’re _retired!_ That Colonel has no business calling you to his side now!”

            His father said nothing. He only held his wife to his side consolingly as the train pulled from the station. Havoc appreciated his silence, and took it as acceptance. Breda greeted him at the station, and Jean bit down on his tongue when he heard of Hawkeye’s injuries, and Mustang’s blindness. His friend, and former comrade only nodded when he declined to see anyone but the Colonel and Doctor Marcoh. He didn’t mention Riza by name, but the exclusion hung in the air.

            Months of atrophy left his legs wobbly, and his balance untrained. Breda clapped him on the back, and promised him a comely therapist in East City. Even after the Mustang Unit’s return to the smaller province, Havoc made no attempt to make contact with Riza. He knew she must be aware of his residence, but the distance between them stretched for miles. After all, he’d been the one to push her away. How could he have expected anything different from a woman like her?

            Riza told herself that she hated him. Sure he’d come through in a pinch, but that had nothing to do with _them_. He hadn’t done it for _her_. He did it for Mustang. And that hurt. Refusing his goodbye felt like the right thing to do at the time, yet as the weeks and months dragged on, she began to accept their breakup as hard fact. His presence in the city was felt, but she would _not_ be the first to fumble out into the darkness to reach for him. She hadn’t been the one to shut him out.

            Her nightmares took on a new texture, and shape. White sands soaked with blood mingled with dark tunnels, and gold-toothed grins. Steel slicing through flesh, and echoes of her name filled her head until she woke gasping, and grabbing at the still-tender scar tissue at the base of her neck. It wasn’t uncommon for Riza to have dark circles under her eyes in the mornings. The only harbor in her storm was the occasional steadying hand of Roy on her shoulder, his questioning gaze silent. She was grateful.

            She never wanted to use sick leave for her difficult mornings. Work was the ultimate distraction. Rational thought began at eight in the morning, and ended at six in the evening. Everything else was survival instinct.

            Upon entering the Colonel’s suite of offices after a night of sleepless tossing, her heart caught in her throat, and her entire body felt dislodged. A bright bouquet of gerbera daisies sat on the corner of her desk. Their colorful petals, still dewy with the morning air, seemed to ask her millions of questions she had no answers for. Riza’s mouth hung agape as she reached out to touch them. Just to be sure they were real. So many things now were _unreal_.           

            Riza glanced around the office. Only Breda, and Furey were present at such an early hour. Breda raised a thick eyebrow, and didn’t shrink from her questioning gaze. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she quickly exited the office. The row of women’s toilet stalls was empty, and she managed to lock herself into one before sobs overtook her.

            The swarm of emotion was devastating. She was angry, yet touched. How _dare_ Havoc send her flowers! _He’d left!_ He didn’t have a right to brighten her morning, not when he’d been back for months! Riza knew her rage was irrational, and misplaced. She had no point of reference for a disability such as his. To go from being the Knight to a proverbial bench wasn’t something she actually understood. But she’d _wanted_ to. She wanted to be close, and helpful.

            Jean’s idea of being helpful was to leave. In retrospect she knew he’d been where he needed to be when his team faltered. That was reality. If he hadn’t left, they’d have been unarmed, and even more ill prepared. Riza hated reality. She wanted to be angry with him, and selfishly make the situation about _them_. Never mind that the luxury of the _possibility_ of _them_ was due to the culmination of the ugly, painful decisions they’d made.

            A group of female soldiers entered the bathrooms chatting about their morning duties, and Riza realized she’d been hiding for too long. She grabbed a handful of tissue, and dabbed at her face. The daisies would be waiting at her desk, and despite the tumult raging away inside her aching chest, she wanted to see them again. Perhaps they’d bring her some peace.

            The vase of flowers had no note attached, but Riza didn’t need one. Their intention, and source were clear. She smiled, and decided to keep them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come to the end, folks. I'm working on a brief epilogue, but I can't say when it'll be posted. It'll be a ridiculous bit of fluff that I'm apologizing for now; I have a hard time letting go of things. I truly appreciate everyone who's read and given me kudos on this little ship. If Havocai is your jam, I've got a fic-rec list on tumblr (a link to my blog is in the profile section, and the post is tagged with Havocai). Thanks for the ride!

            Like clockwork every Monday, and Thursday Lieutenant Hawkeye’s desk was graced with a fresh supply of colorful flowers. She’d come to look forward to them more than any other part of her week. Riza took the Thursday flowers home with her, and enjoyed their presence in her stark apartment. The sender seemed to take into account the time she spent alone, and didn’t want her lacking.

            It was a popular subject of water cooler gossip as to who had been sending them; all personnel outside the Colonel’s staff had a different guess. The flurry of talk flared excitedly when Lieutenant Breda was spotted placing a small box in her hands one afternoon after his lunch break. He hadn’t said anything after the fact, and Riza declined to open it at her desk. Instead, she’d taken it with her for a private moment in the south courtyard, much to everyone’s disappointment.

            The box was small, and wrapped in plain brown paper. She was careful not to jostle the contents too much as she opened it. Inside was an intricately crafted glass ornament in the shape of a star. Its form was flawless and sunlight glinted off the faceted spears. She’d never seen a trinket so beautiful, and detailed. Except for the silver ribbon it dangled from, the entire body of it was a pale blue glass.

            “I haven’t seen Ishvalan glazier work in years,” a familiar voice spoke softly behind her. “Trinkets like that are quite rare now, and must be very costly.”

            Riza gently placed the star back into the padded box. “It’s lovely.”

            Colonel Mustang made himself comfortable beside her on the bench. “Are you going to talk to him?”

            “There’s no invitation for a conversation in this box.”

            “Riza-“

            “Please don’t. You promised me some years ago not to interfere.”

            “That’s the thing, Lieutenant. I’m a bit of a liar.” He grinned rakishly at her, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I hate seeing you like this. He obviously still cares.”

            “Nothing about this situation is obvious except that he’s apparently got quite a bit of disposable income.”

            “Ever the pragmatist.”

            “Just let me handle my own life.”

            “So you will then?”

            Riza felt his eyes on her with an intensity she hated. “What?”

            “Handle it? Because _this_ isn’t handling. You’re stuck in a survival mode, and the only time this robotic face of yours cracks is when his daisies are delivered.”

            “You should devote the energy you spend deciphering my facial expressions to your own work.”

            The Colonel laughed. It wasn’t the laugh she wanted to hear. The timbre and tone were all wrong. “If not for yourself, consider poor Breda. He’s stuck in the middle, and that’s not fair.”

            Riza sighed, and ran her fingertips lightly over the white gift box. “I’ll handle it,” she whispered.

            Roy squeezed her shoulders, and stood. “Excellent. I’m taking my lunch now.” He left her alone in the courtyard. She leaned back against the bench, and stared at the cloudless sky. Her mind felt both clogged and empty.

            That night she hung the star from her bedside window.

            Roy Mustang’s birthday was always a big deal, and he _loved_ the attention. His desk usually overflowed with cards, and gifts from his family, and co-workers. Nothing about this was unusual. She’d grown accustomed to the amount of fawning he received, and did her best to keep him on task. He’d declined the typical raucous party, for once, in favor of a night alone with the dark-haired chef he’d been seeing for some months. Riza liked this one. Marceline was quiet, unassuming, and seemed to calm the Colonel’s flamboyant nature in a way everyone appreciated.

            Her decent mood, and quiet lunch were savaged when Mustang’s secretary commented on the tall, and quite handsome, blonde man currently dragging the Colonel out for an afternoon birthday drink along with Lieutenant Breda.

            Riza stood from her chair more abruptly than she intended. “Lieutenant Wells, please inform the Colonel I’ll be in records for the rest of the afternoon.” She didn’t give the other woman a chance to respond before she vacated the mess hall.

            _Lunch_ turned out to be an afternoon-long affair. When the Colonel located his Lieutenant deep in the bowels of record keeping, his cheeks were pink with perhaps one too many drinks.

            “I’m a better liar than you,” he said too loudly, as he fell into a chair opposite her.

            “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, sir.”

            He laughed. “Hiding in a basement isn’t handling your own life, Riza.” She opened her mouth to reply, but he put up a hand. “Spare me your indignance, please. He’s probably pouting at the duck pond in Victory Park. That’s where I left him, anyway. Poor guy just can’t get over you.”

            Riza balled her hands into fists. “Sir-“

            “Just go. Take the rest of the day off.”

            “You can’t… you can’t just send me away!”

            “Sure I can! You’re my aide, and I’m your superior. I’m also slightly drunk, and it’s my birthday. _See?_ Now you don’t have to buy me a gift. _You’re welcome!”_ He said with an exaggerated, garish wink.

            Riza exhaled, and shut the file folder with frustrated violence. She leaned forward into Roy’s personal space. “I think I’ve finally figured out how Marceline can stand you.” He raised an eyebrow, and shrunk into his chair. “She probably drugs you into silent submission. Happy birthday, _Colonel._ ”

            Victory Park was at the base of a hill covered in pink, and white clover flowers. A copse of trees grew on one side of the sizeable duck pond opposite sparsely placed benches. All but one was unoccupied.

            Jean Havoc leaned forward on his knees watching the ducks. Beside him was a half-gone cluster of grapes, and he casually sliced them in half with his pocketknife before tossing them to the group of fowl he’d attracted. Riza took the seat next to him quietly. A breeze ruffled his hair, and her fingers twitched. In the past she wouldn’t have thought twice about running them through the downy strands.

            She knew he was aware of her presence, but he continued to slice grapes, and serve them to the ducks without comment. The late afternoon sun glinted off the pond, and Riza sighed.

            “Thank you for the flowers, and the blue star. I’m sorry for not saying so before.”

            Havoc leaned back against the bench, and gave her the lopsided grin that always made her heart flutter. “You’re welcome, Riza. I should be the one apologizing, though. It’s an amateur move to send gifts instead of reaching out to you.”

            “Why didn’t you?” she whispered.

            Jean sighed, and started slicing grapes again. “Because I thought if I did, I’d end up apologizing for leaving. And I’m not sorry for that.” He tossed the halves to the eager ducks.

            “You did the right thing. Leaving, I mean. Without you-“ she sighed, and toed a few flowers with her boot. “Without you, we’d have been ruined.”

            “I _am_ sorry for shutting you out afterwards, though. My therapist calls it _stages of grief_. Breda just calls me hardheaded.”

            Riza choked on a laugh, and wiped a tear. “That does sound like Breda.”

            “I want to show you something.” He handed her a business card embossed with nothing but his name, and an address. “Go home, and decompress if you want, but meet me tonight?” He stood, pocketed his knife, and threw the empty grape cluster into a waste can. When he turned, and offered his hand, Riza took it. “Please?”

            The way his hand covered hers was dizzying. It had been so _long_. Almost a lifetime, it seemed. She managed an _okay_ , and could only stare when he brushed his lips against her fingers.

Riza recognized the address on the card as a storefront in the burgeoning commercial district of East City. The post-Promised Day economy was picking up sharply, and it seemed Havoc was taking advantage.

            The front door had been propped open to allow in the crisp evening air, and Riza knocked tentatively on the frame before venturing inside. Though shop was in a state of disarray, it showed signs of new beginnings. The most prominent feature was a curio case filled with Ishvalan glass figurines. None were exactly alike, and they glittered beautifully in the cabinet’s lighting.

            “Pretty, huh?” Jean’s voice was quiet behind her. “Breda met an old man out in Xerxes who makes these, and his son sells them to me at an outrageous price,” He chuckled. “But it’s worth it. He does windows, too, but these are special. You can only get them from me.”

            “I never pegged you as a capitalist, Jean.” She smiled, and turned to peek into one of the many boxes piled on the floor and countertop. It was filled with embroidered silks from Xing.

            “I’m just a country boy soldier turned shopkeep, Riza. Hardly a capitalist, but I can’t deny they’re a great investment.”

            “It looks like you’ve made friends all over the place.” She smiled and returned an expensive looking bottle of Drachman vodka to it’s crate.

            “East City is full of foreign nationals looking for trade. The railroads will be completed soon, and the market’s gonna be blown wide open. I’m just getting a leg up on things.”

            “This is impressive. I wondered how you’ve been spending your time.” She leaned against the counter, and her skin prickled when he propped his elbow next to her.

            “Oh, this only takes up about half my time,” His voice was thick, and when she turned to him, his bright blue eyes were focused solely on her.

            “And the other half?”

            He reached out to finger a strand of her hair. “Well, see, there’s this girl I like. We kind of fucked things up, and I wasn’t sure if she’d want to talk to me again. But I saw her today.”

            Riza’s lips twitched into a tiny grin. “And how did that go?”

            “Pretty good, I think. She agreed to see me tonight.” He twirled her hair around a finger. “It broke my heart seeing her so sad like that,” Jean sighed, and released the strand. His hand moved from her shoulder to her neck, and caressed the scar there with his thumb. “I decided that even if it took me the rest of my life, I’d make her happy. Anything to get rid of the ghosts in her eyes.”

            Riza stepped closer to him, and wrapped her arms around his middle. “She sounds like a lucky woman, though, I doubt it’ll take you the rest of your life.”

            “I hope not,” he whispered, smiling down at her. Jean cupped her cheek in his hand, and finally kissed her lips. He was soft, and tentative at first, but once he recovered his breath, their kisses took on a desperate nature. Riza’s hands slid up his chest, and around his neck. In kind, he held her waist securely to his body.

            In an attempt to clear her head, she pressed her face into his shoulder. She felt him kiss her hair, and inhale deeply. Before Riza could over think her words, she blurted, “I love you.”

            Jean froze for only a split second, before pulling back to see her face. He hadn’t noticed her tears before, and gently wiped them away. “I love you, too. So much.” Hips lips grazed her forehead. “Don’t sleep alone tonight. Come home with me.”

            The last time she’d heard him utter such words seemed like eons ago. She hadn’t thought she’d ever hear them again. Riza’s heart was filled to bursting with affection for this man who always seemed to have a knack for stitching up her seams.

            “There isn’t anyone else I want more.” She’d meant to say _anything,_ but the slight went unnoticed. Jean locked up his store, and together they walked to his home.

            Riza eventually returned to her apartment to gather her belongings. A few boxes of clothes, personal effects, and a sparkling blue star from the bedroom window. But she never slept there again.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The length of this got away from me. Try not to choke on the marshmallow-like fluff. It's thick.

            Riza entered the house via the side door. She deposited her messenger bag on the bench seat in the mudroom, and tugged off her boots. Without a care for her decorations, she tossed her uniform into the small laundry piece by piece. She refused to start her vacation sorting out work related dirty clothes. They could be dealt with in the morning or another day entirely. That was the point of taking leave. Her hand reached out to grab a t-shirt hanging from the rod above the washer, and slipped it over her head. It belonged to her boyfriend, but she doubted he’d mind the pilfering. The last item to go was her bra. The hour was late, and she was ready to check out.

            The kitchen was littered with stacks of invoices, dirty dishes, and the occasional dishrag. Those could also be appropriately cleaned in the morning. They were all signs of a lived-in house, and Riza smiled affectionately. Her own childhood had been so empty.

            She barefooted through the front room towards the staircase turning off a few lamps as she went, and without really thinking about it, she avoided the second step; it still creaked after years of residence. No need to wake up any sleeping souls. When she reached the second floor landing only a single lamp remained. In its yellow glow she spotted the reasons for the cluttered house. Stretched out on the shabby couch they hid from polite company was the owner of the t-shirt. His legs were too long and one was hooked over the worn arm, the other hung awkwardly over the edge of the sofa. Sprawled across his chest was a snoring child, her hair ruffled with sleep, and a pacifier hung half out of her mouth.

            A tired smile crawled across her face, and she simply watched the sleeping pair for a long moment. As quietly as possible, Riza crouched next to the ugly old couch, and brushed the hair from the man’s forehead. He stirred, and grinned up at her.

            “Hey there, beautiful. You’re home.” He did his best to stretch his back without disturbing the seeping toddler. “I don’t think I can move.”

            “I’ll take her to bed,” Riza carefully slid her daughter from Jean’s chest to her own. She squirmed, and a dent of irritation formed between small eyebrows. A chubby hand reached out blindly, and found purchase in a thick strand of Riza’s hair. She forcefully suckled her pacifier, and slipped back into unconsciousness.

            Gently, Riza placed her daughter’s sleeping body into her crib, and disengaged her hair from a surprisingly tight grasp. She ran her finger over a dimpled cheek, and pressed her lips softly to the fluffy bunch of blonde hair. “Goodnight, angel,” she whispered before pulling the bedroom door closed.

            The lamp on the landing had been switched off, and the sofa vacated. In their bedroom, she found him attempting to roll the tension from his neck. “Need a hand with that?”

            His smile was warm. “It couldn’t be helped, you know. Ellie knows I’m a sucker for her tears already. She wouldn’t go to sleep in her own room.”

            Riza guided him to the bed, and he flopped into it on his stomach. She straddled his waist, and probed the tense muscles in his shoulders. “I’m sure she gave you the doe eyes, and that’s all it took, right?”

            He laughed, and even after years of being with him, the sound still made her heart feel lighter. “I swear there were tears. Big ones, Riza. She even used her  words against me. _Daddy no!_ There was nothing I could do!”

            “Uh, huh. Sure. You’re setting a dangerous precedent for yourself.” She worked her way down his spine. “One I can’t help you with.”

            “She won’t be little forever, and I don’t want to miss anything.”

            Riza sighed, and sat back. “You’re so whipped. Owned by an eighteen month old.”

            A muscled arm reached around, and circled her waist, dragging her down onto the mattress. Jean leaned over her, and grinned. “You’re hardly one to talk! I’ve seen the way you cave into cookies right after breakfast, and five stories instead of two.” His finger poked playfully at her side.

            “First of all,” she managed over a stifled squeal. “First of all, that’s not true. I’ve never given her snacks before eleven, and reading to a toddler is necessary for cognitive development! I’m doing her a _favor!_ ”

            “Yeah, yeah. Hey, is this my clean shirt?” Jean grabbed a handful of fabric. “I was going to wear this tomorrow.”

            “I’m not sorry. You know things you leave hanging in the laundry are fair game.”

            He snorted. “You don’t ever see me stealing _your_ clothes.” Jean sighed dramatically, and slid his hand underneath the hem stopping at her stomach. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m about to take it off anyway, but I want no complaints from you when I start wearing the things you leave out hanging.”

            “Good luck getting anything I own to fit your giant body.” Riza could not contain her laughter. “You’d look like a poorly kept man mowing the yard in my t-shirts.”

            She let him pull the shirt over her head, and blew a strand of hair from her eye. “Why am _I_ the kept one in this relationship?”

            “Because you’re home more than I am. It’s only fair.”

            He leaned down and kissed between her breasts. “I think you’re just jealous that I get to do my boring paperwork in my pajamas.”

            “You’re right,” Riza laughed, and pushed on his shoulder. “I am _exceedingly_ jealous that you get to do your boring paperwork in your pajamas. Do you think,” she paused, and looked away. “Do you think Ellie loves me less because I’m gone more?” This was something she battled every morning when she left her daughter, and Havoc at home to go to work at Eastern Headquarters. Often he took the girl with him to his store, but when business made that impossible, she stayed with a babysitter two blocks from their house. Ellie was never too far away from her father.

            “Hey,” He turned her head to face him. “Stop that. Ellie doesn’t love you any more or less than she does me. She babbles about you all day; where you are, what you’re doing, if you brought crackers for lunch… you’ve got to stop torturing yourself.”

            “It’s just that sometimes-“

            “Knock it off, Riza. I’m serious.” Havoc’s eyes narrowed into blue slits. “Is this because of what my mother said to you?”

            Riza flushed. “Maybe a little.”

            He dropped his head onto her shoulder. “ _Why_ do you let her get to you? She’s an _awful_ example!”

            “Well she does have a point-“

            “ _No!_ No she doesn’t!” Jean took a deep breath. “ _Of course_ she stayed home with us! She and my dad literally _live above_ their store! I was sitting at the counter watching my sister ring up customers by the time I was _three_ while my pregnant mom handled vendors! Do _not_ compare what we have to _that_.”

            “I only wish I could be home more. That’s all.”

            “You take six weeks of leave a year, Riza, plus holidays. That’s plenty of down time you have with Ellie to negate all this ridiculous guilt. And please, for the _love of god_ , ignore what my mom says regarding Ellie’s upbringing.” He wrapped his arms under, and around her. “Please?”

            “I love you, you know that?”

            “I do. Now can we get to the part where we have hot, sweaty sex and pass out? It’s been a very long day.”

            She could feel him smiling against her shoulder. “I suppose that’s acceptable, but I expect the shirt to be returned to me. I have nothing else to sleep in seeing as no one did any laundry today.”

            “It was intentional. I like it when all your sleep shirts are dirty.”

            “You’d make a terrible housewife, Jean.” She smiled when he kicked off his boxer shorts, and yanked her panties down.

            “Ah, but you’d have to make an honest man out of me before I could ever be your wife.”

            “Touché,” Riza mumbled as he kissed her soundly.

            Morning came with a loud cry from Ellie’s nursery. She had no problems sleeping through the night, but when the sun rose, so did the girl. Riza crawled from the empty bed, and greeted her daughter with a sleepy smile.

            “Morning, angel, you hungry?” She set Ellie on her hip, and headed for the kitchen. Jean had stacked the dirty dishes from the day before in the sink on his way out the door. He’d nudged her awake at a brutal five o’clock to remind her he had a few things to handle at the store before taking the rest of the day off.

            “Crunch!” Ellie babbled excitedly reaching for the bright yellow cereal box. Riza deposited her in a dining chair, and grabbed a plastic bowl from the cupboard. “Crunch, crunch, crunch, mommy!”

            Riza joined her at the table, and sipped her tea as she watched her daughter ignore the spoon to eat each piece of cereal with her fingers. Ellie never wanted milk in her bowl, and seemed perfectly happy crunching on them dry.

            Refusing to devote her time alone with Ellie to housework, she only spent twenty minutes tidying the kitchen, and adding a load of clothes to the washer. Jean wouldn’t be back until lunch, and her daughter was already tugging her to the backyard. The sandbox was a source of endless fascination.

            Later that afternoon, Havoc strode through the door bearing bags of food, and an armful of papers. Riza relieved him of the bags so he could catch the child bowling at him from across the room.

“When are your parents getting in? I should probably make sure the guest room is serviceable.”

            “Grandpa!” Ellie interjected, squirming free of her father to grab at the food containers.

            “Probably not until tonight. We’ve got time later, and I’m starving.”

            Riza only picked at her food, and let Jean convince Ellie that chicken bits were for eating, not playing. “What’s the matter, beautiful? You look like your mind is wandering.”

            She tried to smile. “I’m fine.”

            “Liar.” He winked at her from across the table.

            “I _am._ Just a little anxious about the weekend.” She didn’t want to say so in front of Ellie, but Mrs. Havoc was a source of stress. The woman wasted no time judging the state of their house, and never let a visit go by without a not-so-subtle complaint that her son had produced a child out of wedlock. _I don’t see what the holdup is_ , she’d pout loudly _, I was married by the time I was twenty!_

            Jean, being her son, possessed the ability to shrug off her complaints without a single ruffled feather. Riza positively molted. Mrs. Havoc did not approve of her occupation, or really _any_ occupation outside the home. Never mind that, as he’d pointed out the previous evening, his mother had indeed held a job when her children were young. He’d explained numerous times that she was still bitter he’d gone back to the city instead of pasturing himself, and marrying a hometown girl. Preferably one she’d had the opportunity to judge for years in advance. The fact that he’d struck out on his own, and shacked up with a soldier was mortifying for her circle of gossiping friends.

            Ellie adored her grandfather, and he never failed to have a pocket full of sweets or trinkets for her perusal. He also praised his son at length for his successful business endeavors. Like Jean, he brushed off his wife’s complaints, and always had a kind word for the mother of his granddaughter. And it wasn’t that Mrs. Havoc ever said anything outright mean, but Riza couldn’t help but take the disapproval as a personal insult.

            She didn’t need a ring, and slip of paper to know Jean loved her. He seemed perfectly content with their life together, and knew that if he _did_ ever propose her answer would have been yes. After they’d first moved in together everything blurred into a single chunk of time; Riza’s night terrors flared at least three times a week, and she’d clung to him desperately at every occurrence. When that anxiety started to lessen, and cohabitation ironed out her wrinkles, Ellie had come along, and marriage just never came up.

            “Ellie, why don’t you go get your crayons, and we’ll color at the table. I need to talk to mommy for a minute.”

            The little girl, still clad in her pajamas, stumbled out of her chair, and ran off to collect her art supplies. Riza stood, and gathered the dishes. She hadn’t meant to make a big deal out of the visit or her anxiety.

            “Hey,” Jean called to her from the table. “Hey, come sit with me.”

            “I told you, I’m fine, Jean.”

            He exhaled heavily, and instead of waiting for her to comply, stood directly behind her at the sink. His arms wound around her body, and his chin landed on her shoulder. “Have I told you how much I hate the word _fine?”_

            “I mean it, though. I’m just not looking forward to three days of opinionated commentary.”

            Jean removed the plates from her hands, and let them fall beneath the suds. He turned her to face him, and lightly kissed her frowning mouth. “I know my mother wears you out. She unfairly judges our life, it’s true. But her opinion doesn’t matter to me nearly as much as yours. Do _you_ feel like we’re missing out on anything?”

            His eyes searched her face, and Riza swallowed back a lump in her throat. “No,” she whispered. “But it bugs me that she thinks we are.”

            “Aw, don’t cry, beautiful. I’ll shut her down if she bothers you that much. Okay?” His thumb brushed away the tear that escaped. “I’ll talk to her.”

            Without meaning to, Riza dressed Ellie to impress her boyfriend’s parents. Her daughter wasn’t especially fond of dresses, but allowed the fawning, and ribbons in her hair. The Havocs arrived just after dinner hour, and Jean brought out a bottle of his father’s favorite bourbon. Mrs. Havoc was perfectly polite, and reveled in the attention from her granddaughter. Ellie’s giggles soon turned to yawns, and Riza excused herself to put the toddler to bed. The excitement had taken a toll, and she nodded off much quicker than usual.

            Riza took a quiet seat at the top of the stairs when she overheard her name in a conversation below. Eavesdropping was incredibly rude, she knew, but the idea of dealing with Jean’s mother when she was on a roll was wholly unpalatable.

            “Just let it go, ma! Riza, and I are happy the way things are!”

            “I’m only saying that if you keep on in this way, people will talk! I’d hate to see little Ellie the subject of gossip.”

            Riza clenched her fingers, and bit her tongue. The comment had been a low blow.

            “Now, Delia, we-“ She recognized the soft voice of Jean’s father.

            “ _Mother_ , it’s one thing to make backhanded comments about Riza, but you will _not_ comment on my daughter’s social status. I’m sick to death of the way you analyze our life into bits of things you approve or don’t approve of. This is _my_ family _. My_ decisions. You come in here spouting your opinions, and it stresses Riza the hell out. She doesn’t need that bullshit. I hate knowing it’s my own mother that makes her feel self-conscious about choices we’ve made together. She’s had enough parental discord to last two lifetimes.”

            Riza bit her lip. She hadn’t imagined Jean would lose his temper so quickly. “If you can’t behave yourself, then _we’ll_ just come to _you_ from now on. When we feel like it.”

            The silence below was suffocating. Riza stood, and made her way to their bedroom. She didn’t feel comfortable walking in on such a conversation that, really, she shouldn’t have overheard at all. The water pipes in the house were noisy, and she knew her shower wouldn’t go unnoticed. Breathing in the steam, and feeling the hot spray on her shoulders calmed her frayed nerves.

            “Can I join you?”

            Riza jumped at the voice behind her, but smiled. “As long as you promise not to try and stuff yourself into my nightie afterwards.”

            There was the laugh she loved. “I promise. This time.” He pulled her against his body, and panted an open mouthed kiss on her exposed neck.

            “Jean, we can’t! Your parents-“

            He groaned into her skin. “Mmm, I don’t care.”

            She found she didn’t actually care either, and let him have his way. The water was edging on cold when she finally reached over to switch it off. Havoc wrapped her with a towel, and smiled. “Things’ll be better tomorrow. I talked to my mom.”

            “I… know.” He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean to spy, I was actually headed downstairs, and heard the talking.”

            “Well, it’s for the best, then. She’s promised to be less invasive, and to keep her opinions to herself. I don’t think she realized how awful she was being.”

            “I didn’t hear everything, and I decided a shower would be preferable to any appearance by me.”

            Jean frowned, and tugged her closer by her hips. “This is your house, too, Riza. You shouldn’t ever feel awkward.”

            She wrapped her arms around his bare chest, and smiled. “I don’t. I just needed a break. Thank you for defending me.”

            “I defended our _family_ , beautiful. That’s what we _are_. It’s what we have _together_.” His hand toyed with the edge of her towel. “You should probably put on that nightie before I pull this off.”

            Riza laughed, and kissed his chest. “You’re terrible. Come to bed, soon. I know you’re itching for a secret smoke by the window.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jean winked at her, and ran a hand through his wet hair.

            “Don’t keep me waiting.” Riza left him in the bathroom, and her heart swelled with so many things she couldn’t possibly name them all. They swirled around her twinkling like fireflies. She didn’t need anything else if she could have this simplicity for the rest of her life.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of a grievance: I've seen a lot of drunken sex, and dub/non-con in this fandom, and almost zero of it is labeled as such. I have to chalk this up to writers and readers not fully understanding the idea of consent. And to be honest, that both terrifies and saddens me.
> 
> No, Riza was not totally trashed at the end of the first chapter, but that's the point I'm trying to make. Havoc didn't feel comfortable having sex with a woman for the first time when she's not sober enough to take that step and realize all the implications. It's a poor omen at the beginning of a relationship. They are co-workers, and partners. Anything less than totally sober consent would have been inappropriate.
> 
> This doesn't make Jean a hero or anything special. It just means he did the right thing.
> 
> I can't say how long this fic will be, but I like this pairing and won't weigh them down with boring plot I don't care about. Like the summary says, it's just a love story (that definitely has not been beta'd). I don't know exactly how things will fit into the manga/Brotherhood timeline, but *waves in it's general direction* maybe just squint a little?


End file.
